OUR TOWNS

OUR TOWNS; Seeing Genius Between the Dashes

By Andrew H. Malcolm

Published: April 14, 1992

SOUTH ORANGE, N.J.—
FOR today's column, you'd best care about words, literary history, the imperfect process of creative writing and editing, and something as minor as commas. It would be helpful if you enjoy F. Scott Fitzgerald and "The Great Gatsby." But you needn't like italics. Fitzgerald hated -- absolutely despised -- italics for emphasis; he wasn't keen on semicolons either. And Fitzgerald was definitely not the best speler.

Matthew J. Bruccoli knows this. In fact, the Bronx-born professor of English at the University of South Carolina (now there's a mix) likely knows Fitzgerald better than the author's famous editor, Maxwell Perkins, did in the 1920's. Although Fitzgerald died 52 years ago (listening to Beethoven), his writing is still being edited -- by Professor Bruccoli.

Long before literary squirreling was profitable, Fitzgerald saved everything -- letters, manuscripts, galley proofs, revised proofs, re-revised proofs. Fitzgerald's editors were ever eager to pounce on missing commas and periods -- and to delete dashes like this -- in "Gatsby." But somehow these eagle-eyed centurions of style missed majors errors in chronology, typography and geography (the Queensboro Bridge, for instance, does not end -- or begin -- in Astoria).

Princeton University's Fitzgerald Archive combined with incalculable legwork makes Professor Bruccoli a literary archeologist, tracing the evolution of scenes, sentences, even typographical errors from birth to print. Comparing each Fitzgerald draft and poring over correspondence, Professor Bruccoli has produced what he calls the real "Great Gatsby," which Cambridge University Press recently published.

The 60-year-old editor will likely edit Fitzgerald until his own death. There are 16 more volumes to go. Next spring comes "The Last Tycoon," finally published with Fitzgerald's title -- "The Love of the Last Tycoon: A Western." In 1995 comes "Tender Is the Night," which Fitzgerald rewrote 17 times. Each volume carries Professor Bruccoli's copious notes -- as lengthy as the actual text -- explaining historical references, editing changes and uncaught errors. It is a priceless peek into the creative and publishing process, which sometimes lets masterpieces slip through.

Professor Bruccoli, hot on the trail of 12 newly discovered archive folders, described his detective work to a literary group here at Seton Hall University the other evening marking the publication anniversary of "Gatsby." Sixty-seven years ago this week the book was a sales flop. The living Fitzgerald never had a best seller. Today, "Gatsby" sells 300,000 copies a year, according to the crew-cut professor, who brooks no Fitzgerald naysaying.

"If the phrase 'Great American Novel' means anything," he said, "it means 'The Great Gatsby.' " For several reasons, he said, Fitzgerald is inadequately appreciated. One is Fitzgerald's abysmal public relations. "Hemingway shoots endangered wildlife," says Professor Bruccoli, "and it's creative. Hemingway gets divorced and it's art. The Fitzgerald groupies want to believe he only wrote while drunk, dancing atop a table. Horseradish!"

All right, Fitzgerald was a creative speller -- yach, aparttment, ect. Yes, he had a prodigious thirst and a marriage made in hell. And, O.K., this Minnesota native would refer to tides on Lake Superior, which has none. But he was also a great craftsman, albeit a stylist who drove printers crazy. Fitzgerald regarded even final galley proofs as a new chance to rewrite. Weeks before publication, he'd revise entire sections, his neat handwriting filling every margin, baffling printers, who'd omit or misplace changes. Scott and Zelda, wandering around Capri, wouldn't see the mistakes until the finished book, which Fitzgerald would again rewrite in the margins. Such handwritten guidelines from the past are treasures for Professor Bruccoli, who now catches himself rewriting extensively on galley proofs.

Ten days before publication of "Gatsby," Fitzgerald, who hated the title, even tried to rewrite it to "Under the Red, White and Blue." Too late.

Then there's the punctuation problem. Fitzgerald wrote for the ear. He'd read every line aloud. He hated commas. Editors -- even those on newspapers today -- edit for the eye. They frown on dashes. They do like commas -- absolutely love them -- believing commas are cheap and ease reading. In Gatsby's 48,852 words Professor Bruccoli found -- and restored -- more than 1,100 punctuation changes. (This paragraph had no commas as written.)

Even the editors of Fitzgerald's editor had problems; they wouldn't let him change Astoria to Long Island City. So Professor Bruccoli pencils the correction into every copy he sees. "Editors are professional second-guessers," grumps the editor.

"This text," adds Professor Bruccoli, pocketing his pocket watch, "is as close as I can get to what Fitzgerald intended -- until I go to that Ritz Bar in the sky, sit down with him and say, 'Now, Scott, what else do you want changed?' " Author's note: The editor's expletive has been edited for style.